


get you good

by r1ker



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, i'm blessed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8546611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker
Summary: brick squad





	

**Author's Note:**

> brick squad

Ed's sitting with his front to the crackling fireplace in the sitting room of the mayor's home. Oswald stands behind the couch he's seated on, hears the flames popping and whistling between the logs and the soft rush of breath that causes Ed's shoulders to rise and fall. Between Oswald's fingers Isabella's blood still hides in the whorls of his fingerprints, but his fists clench shut to hide its gruesome truth as he approaches Ed.

 

"She touched me," Ed says, just loud enough to be heard with a reasonable strain of the ears against the burgeoning silence splitting them both. "I said no, I…kept seeing Kristin, I didn't know which was which. She had her way with me." The tone seeping into his words isn't as appalled as Oswald was anticipating from such a confession. Rather it's very accusatory, towards his own choices in that moment more than anything else, and it makes him cringe. "I lied when I said she was on her way to the librarians' conference. I don't know where she went after."

 

So Oswald does what he's wont to do when he can't seem to find a way to respond to something verbally. He puts his clean hand on Ed's shoulder, feels where it warms the wool of his sweater beneath his palm. To his surprise Ed does not recoil from his touch. "I don't know if I loved her or not. Isn't that strange?" The small laugh following his last word stings as badly as the way the last few words were uttered.

 

"She knew who really loved you," Oswald murmurs mostly to himself, remembering her remark from the night they last spoke. Like it was ever a lie. He wasn't counting on her to spill whatever beans had gathered – didn't think she'd get that close to Ed ever again to confess something so momentous – but he held onto an inkling of fear that she'd beat him to the chase. "The last time we were together we spoke about it. She was very confident that it was not her." The last part is a bit of a stretch; he feels like he's putting words into her mouth. But something also tells him that if he had stayed for a moment longer she'd refute the evidence he held onto so dearly that he was the one that truly loved Ed.

 

"It was me," makes his mouth go dry. His heart pounds in his chest, so much so that it seems to reverberate back into his sweating palms. Beneath his hand Ed's shoulder tenses slowly. The door leading out onto the patio has never looked so enticing in all the short time he's lived in this grand home. "It was me, it was always me, don't ever forget that." Of course, he'd have to be standing out in the pouring rain to avoid confronting Ed about this. A wet sports jacket is nothing compared to the crush this will be. In an instant the whole scenario goes cataclysmic. He waits for Ed to shrug off his previous gesture of comfort. A few short seconds pass, and Ed does something Oswald most certainly did not have money on.

 

He turns around and stands facing Oswald. Oswald can smell the hickory smoke that's seeped into the fibers of his sweater as he steps closer, the notes of the cologne he most certainly didn't pick out on his own. The shadows their bodies throw onto the rugs from the light of the fire shift as Ed tilts his head down just right and, taking Oswald's chin in one hand, and slides his lips against his so expertly his previous affairs were never even an event of the past.

 

What seems like hours has only been a minute, and Oswald loses control of his hands, as he expected himself to. They finally end up clutching to Ed's shoulders for dear life. Ed's got him in his grip too, hands wandering down the sides of Oswald's thighs. _This isn't real, he's with her, I'm going to wake up with a damp spot on my pillow,_ Oswald's mind projects into his immediate awareness. Soon both are in the market for some air, but don't move apart too far. Ed's forehead rests against his, teeth searching to bury in Oswald's lower lip. Ed laughs when hands scrabble over his shoulders and neck furiously in an effort to make what's happening seem more real.

 

"Like I had ever forgotten about it in the first place," Ed murmurs, idly playing with the hem of Oswald's shirt. He kisses him again, slower this time, and eases them closer to the chaise adjacent to the fireplace. From there Oswald goes neatly into Ed's lap, knees bracketing his hips and slipping into the place where the cushion pulls apart from the seat. His shirttails are freed from his waistband and he tries to stifle the shiver he gives on reflex when Ed's hands trail down over his ass.

 

There isn't any real effort to make the gesture into actual sex but Oswald is more than happy for the two of them to rut against each other. Slow and uncoordinated, he can feel them finding some sort of rhythm as it continues. The sounds he hears are unlike anything he's ever dreamed about in that sleep world where this was for real. Beneath his breath Ed conceals poorly his labored gasps for air, the rustle of his lowered pants as he grinds against Oswald. Thankfully they don't say a word throughout all of this, as Oswald hangs on for the ride, toes curling painfully against the chair to try and steady his trembling knees. Since Ed kissed him first he's been on the brink of coming, and now, so close to him that he could taste his skin if he so dared to reach out and put his mouth to Ed's straining neck, it's certainly inevitable.

 

And he does, into the palm of Ed's hand, above the waistband to his underwear where he's been divested of his underclothes crudely for the two of them to try and get even closer. Ed swallows up any autonomic response he could have to the sudden intensity of his orgasm. He can't avoid Oswald's teeth digging into his lower lip, previously a moan. That distracts Ed long enough for Oswald to get a hand around him, stroking once, twice, until Ed too finds his release, sighing long and slow into, against, Oswald.

 

Satiation like Oswald once knew it doesn't compare to now, lounging lazily in Ed's lap, fingers running through the sweaty hair curling around his ears and the nape of his neck. His heart beats a steady tattoo against Ed's shoulder. Ed too has a thing for touch. His fingers bridge into the spaces between Oswald's ribs and press in a little. The last thing Oswald remembers before giving into the warm, comfortable urge to fall asleep against Ed is a voice saying, "It always was you."


End file.
